


Claire de Lune

by 64K



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Canon Compliant, Dancing, Developing Relationship, Inspired by Music, Inspired by Poetry, Other, Pre-Canon, in which Kimblee and Envy behave surprisingly well, or at least it attempts to be
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-12
Updated: 2018-03-12
Packaged: 2019-03-30 02:47:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13940961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/64K/pseuds/64K
Summary: The last night before the State Alchemists are to be unleashed upon Ishval, Kimblee sits alone at the celebratory ball, observing one particular, ever-changing dancer on the ballroom floor.





	Claire de Lune

**Author's Note:**

> This story is heavily influenced by the Paul Verlaine poem "Claire de Lune," as well as the Gabriel Faure song based off of the poem. If you're going to listen to something while reading this, I'd really recommend that you listen to that!

 

The eyes are always the same. The mask constantly changes, and the shape of the face, and the height, and the clothes, and everything else, but Kimblee always recognizes the eyes. They’re violet, yes, but not only that; they carry a century’s worth of colours, and he sees a new one with every time they pass by: the rich purple of empires long ago fallen, crimson undertones, the blood of thousands slain, clear blue as well, something melancholy and hidden from him.

He watches them whirl past him, in a different person’s arms every time, and vaguely wonders why Envy would ever come among humans like this, why they would ever let “filthy” mortal hands touch them. It’s all an act, he understands that; he’s an actor too, but there’s roles that one takes by choice, and there’s roles that you’re assigned, and he would never have thought of Envy as one who would want to dance, to be surrounded by humans in this way. Shouldn’t their nerves be fraying, their patience growing more tenuous, with every new human interaction? But he can’t empathize with Envy, he can only imagine, and his imagination is limited by his mortality. He can’t understand them yet; there’s still so much left to learn.

Kimblee watches from the corner, where he’d hidden himself with plans to remain there until the night was over. He knows that there would be questions (albeit insincere ones) if he had chosen not to attend tonight. “Where were you last night?” he imagines Grand saying with a forced chuckle, a stiff, reluctant hand patting Kimblee’s shoulder. “We missed you,” Isaac would say, wincing, with no sincerity in his voice. Nobody would miss him; they would be relieved if he hadn’t come tonight. But all State Alchemists were to celebrate, and Kimblee has to keep up appearances. One more night of acting, a celebration of what they were all going to do tomorrow on the southern plains, and then Kimblee can finally be himself. But he has no interest in the dancing; the tempo is slow, and the harmonic progression is dull and cliched, and the close contact that dancing provides had never seemed appealing or natural to him. So he merely watches, and observes, as always.

Kimblee observes Envy dance; they are very good at it. No matter what they looks like at the time, they know exactly what movements to make, exactly how to absorb the rhythm of the music into their body and make it a part of them. He’s happy to have something to watch; his thoughts of tomorrow, of marching out to Ishval, and of what he will do there, run and run and he can’t stop them. The game of “which one is Envy,” tracing the movements of the ever-changing homunculus throughout the ballroom, is a welcome distraction.

Suddenly, he can’t see Envy anymore.

A few minutes of searching the crowd from where he sits proves to be fruitless; they’re gone. Kimblee tries not to feel disappointed; it’s an uncomfortable feeling that he’s not used to.

“Ah, there you are.”

Violet eyes look down, and a slender hand takes Kimblee’s, drawing him up to stand. “Come on, then,” says Envy, grinning. “I didn’t think that I’d have to come looking for you.”

Kimblee doesn’t like how relieved he feels. “I’m not going to dance with you,” he says, looking them in the eye. “This music is terrible for it, after all.”

“Oh, that’s too bad,” Envy says mockingly. “As if I would want you to.”

Perhaps he’d misread them. “Ah. Well, it was a logical conclusion, considering what you were doing out there,” he says, gesturing towards the multitudes whirling on the ballroom floor.

“That’s acting for you,” says Envy with a shrug. “Sometimes people do things that they wouldn’t normally for the sake of doing a job.”

That’s always the way with Envy. Friendly and almost affectionate one moment, and mocking the next. Kimblee can’t fit their mood swings to a formula, and that’s really what makes Envy so interesting, and yet so horribly aggravating. He can’t know what they think of him, whether it’s alright to make a joke or poke fun at them as you would with a friend, or whether that’s a horrible misstep, to treat your benefactor so casually. Kimblee constantly keeps a middle ground.

“I realize that,” says Kimblee. “You know that I’m an actor too. But the odd thing about your excuse is that you don’t need to be here.”

“You don’t know that.” Envy says the words carelessly, swaying on the tips of their toes. “But you’re right. I just wanted to be.” Their mouth quirks. “Really, all I wanted to do was talk to you; no special reason. Homunculi get bored too, you know, and you’re entertaining enough.”

Kimblee’s not sure whether to be flattered that Envy would come here for him, or suspicious because, really, there must be some other motivation to it, or bothered that he’s “entertainment,” but he can leave those thoughts for later, when he has time to mull them over. “If you insist,” he says, letting Envy lead him along the wall, past the dancers and revellers, out to the garden.

Out in the garden, the moonlight casts a silvery glow on the marble statues. Central Command looks almost charming from out here, the golden glow of the lamplight shining through the glass windows, the muted strains of the string quartet floating down to the garden. The music is better from here, without the chatter and stomping feet of the people inside.

“Are you excited?” Envy’s looking at him with a sparkle in their eyes. “Looking forward to the big day?”

“How could I not be?” Kimblee sits on the edge of the fountain, looking up towards the party lights. “It’s all culminated to this. It’s rather beautiful, I think—your plan’s complexity. I only wish I knew more of what brought us here.”

Envy grins, shrugging as they pace across the stony garden path. “There’s only so much you’ll ever get to know, Crimson. I don’t like you _that_ much. But I’m glad to know you’re looking forward to it. You’ll have a lot of fun, I promise.”

Kimblee nods silently, watching them pace. They still move with that same fluidity, even though they aren’t dancing now, and he’d still somehow rather think about _that_ , instead of tomorrow. The over-excitement is affecting him adversely, and he needs to take that into account...

“How much _do_ you like me?”

Envy stops. “What?”

Kimblee keeps his gaze steady. “I’m just curious.”

Envy’s eyes narrow. “You’re never just curious. What do you mean?”

Kimblee coughs, to stall for time. It’s funny, how he’s at a loss for words… or, rather, he has the words, but they don’t make sense.

He wants to understand Envy. There’s still so much about them that he hasn’t been able to put rhyme or reason to, and knowing what he really is in their eyes, whether just a tool or otherwise, would be a terribly valuable shard of knowledge to hold onto.

But he’s somehow not able to form those questions into words that make sense.

He lowers his eyes, tapping his fingers together, staring towards the stone path of the courtyard. “I’m just curious,” he repeats.

There’s no answer for what seems like ages. The sounds of the fountain, of the minor chords drifting from the windows, are almost overwhelming. Then, Envy looks at him, a slight smile on their face. “I like you enough to dance with you.”

It’s not a complete answer; it doesn’t answer Kimblee’s thousand curiosities, but it’s a statement of affection at the very least. He’s not quite sure what it means yet, but he can use it to gauge future interactions with Envy, in some way, at least.

“That must not be very much then” he says with a toss of his head. “Since you danced with everybody else in Central Command tonight, despite hating every one of them.”

“That wasn’t me, though” says Envy, taking a step towards him. “Not really. I’d never let a human touch _me_. A disguise of mine, maybe, if I had to, but never me.”

“But _I’m_ allowed.” Kimblee rises from the fountain edge, leaving behind the feeling of the mist as he approaches Envy. “Is that what you mean?” It’s a breathtaking prospect, somehow, and he’s not sure why...

“To dance with _me_ , yes.” Envy shrugs. “And I’ll let you if you’d like.”

“I’m not good at it, you know.” But Kimblee lets Envy take his hands regardless.

Kimblee doesn’t like dancing—he never has—but he likes the music in a minor key that now drifts from the windows. He likes the sounds of he and Envy’s feet on the courtyard floor, and the sound of the fountain and the feeling of the mist that rises from it, and the moonlight, and the thought of what he’s going to do tomorrow, and he likes the feeling of Envy’s hand in his own. All of the parts work together to overwhelm the whole that he so dislikes.

“See, this is why you’re special,” says Envy. They grin up towards him. “I wouldn’t do this with anybody else.”

In reality, it’s hardly a compliment, but Kimblee can’t help but feel flattered. “Ah, well, aren’t I so special,” he says, and spins Envy around. The sound of their giggle at the unexpected movement adds one more dimension to the overall atmosphere.

“Y’know, you’re not bad at it,” murmurs Envy, drawing their one arm closer around Kimblee’s neck. “Better than all of _them_.”

He’s objectively worse than every dancer in Central Command, since he has never done it before tonight. But he’s not going to tell Envy that. “I owe it to my partner,” he says with a smile.

Envy smiles too, and squeezes his hand a little bit tighter.

**Author's Note:**

> So, today is my one-year Kimvy-shipping-anniversary… yay!
> 
> I must confess that romance is not something that comes naturally to me; normally I'm happy to only write about platonic relationships, and I'm rather lacking as a romantic. Kimvy as a pairing has really resonated with me, though, and it's really pushed me out of my comfort zone as a writer, both in terms of writing a romantic relationship and also in writing from a villain's perspective (both things that I've never done before watching FMA). Their odd ways of communication and conflicting feelings about each other are fun to battle with, and I consider it a victory whenever I get either of them a little closer to admitting something, no matter how small the admittance is. Both of these characters are very special to me, and I hope that I can continue to develop my versions of them in the future!
> 
> Of course, I owe so much to distant-glory for writing about them first and getting me into the ship and letting me talk about my ideas to her—meeting and making friends with you has been the best part about Kimvy for me. I love you, friend!


End file.
